


The Kidnapping of Smith

by dinosaurApocalypse



Category: Benjaminutes - Fandom, The Riftdale Chronicles (Web Series)
Genre: no smiths were harmed in the making of this fanfiction, poor smith, thats a lie this is entirely going to hurt smith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-05-28 17:48:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15054515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosaurApocalypse/pseuds/dinosaurApocalypse
Summary: Even the quietest town has its secrets, even the safest place to be isn't always safe. Smith knows there's something strange going on in the sleepy little town of Riftdale.It's a shame it takes Smith being kidnapped for him to learn a few things about the town and, ultimately, himself.





	1. The Beginning

        It's a quiet day in Riftdale, but that's nothing new. It's always quiet in Riftdale, compared only to the universe Smith and Chief came from. At home, everything was loud. The cars, the near constant phone calls, the people. What it lacked in color it made up for in the noise. In Riftdale, everything is quieter, less chaotic in the way home was, though more chaotic in its own rite. It's so different than home, than the life Smith once knew. Home had no color, everything was a monochrome world and a lot of noise. After being zapped into a world full of color, where everything was bright and vibrant and so, so different than his world, Smith was absolutely thrilled. Things are much happier in Riftdale than it was at home, and Smith thinks that maybe it's influenced by the colors. Maybe people would be happier in their world if they were colorful. Smith wishes he could be colorful. He'd love to be able to wear anything he wanted and the color stay the same, not changing to the same dull grays.

        Not a whole lot is different in Riftdale than back home besides the colors and the new stuff. Phones you can carry in your pocket, cars that are much better and quieter, even laws and styles have all changed. However, these things are little details that just make Riftdale even more interesting to Smith. The most important things are the same, like cops catching bad guys and helping people like Smith always wanted to do! Things started getting weird though, and Smith doesn't know what to think about it. At least Chief notices it too.

        Every time Chief and Smith would write up a report about The Priest and give it to the chief of police, he'd forget all about it and acted like he'd never heard of The Priest until just then! The next day, the cycle would repeat, but the files would get longer with all the crimes The Priest would insist on continuing that they've discovered. Always one step behind the man, always unaware of his current or future moves. Smith's starting to feel disheartened, wondering if they'll ever catch The Priest or if anyone but them will remember him! Even Susan, the most unlikely to forget things, doesn't even remember the man Smith talks so much about. It's so strange, and Smith's starting to believe it has something to do with the strange people in black suits and red ties. Last night, when Smith came in to get his phone that he left in Chief's office, Smith saw two men in black suits leading the chief of police out of the building. Then this morning, when Smith went to check on the chief, he didn't remember anything! It was very weird, but Smith thinks maybe they were playing a joke, or that the men in suits are secret people Smith shouldn't know about, so he didn't say anything to anyone, not even to Chief!

        At the moment, Chief and Smith are sitting in Chief's office, finishing up what they can before noon hits. Chief wants to get everything done as quickly as possible, and while Smith knows it's good to be on time and to use your time wisely, he doesn't see the point in doing it all when it's just going to be forgotten later. Chief says it's still important to do, in that stern tone that means he won't hear any arguments otherwise, so Smith's forced to drop the topic. Smith bounces anxiously in his seat, watching Chief doing even more paperwork for The Priest's file, an annoyed look crossing Chief's face as he looks up at Smith for the tenth time in about five minutes. Smith smiles sheepishly, still bouncing in the chair as he watches Chief's pencil scratch words onto paper and Chief pause to drink from his flask- a drink Smith isn't allowed to ask about or have.

        "Smith, if you're so bored you can help me do some errands, then go get some lunch when your break starts," Chief grumbles at him, making Smith laugh and scoot his chair closer to Chief's. He peeks over Chief's arm, reading the file in an, admittedly poor, impersonation of his partner and father-figure. He manages to catch Chief's barely there smile, making eye contact with his partner and closest friend. Chief puts the pencil in a cup completely stuffed with pencils and pens, placing a calloused hand on Smith's head and ruffling his hair for a moment before picking up the file on The Priest.

      "Here, go put this on the chief's desk, then go get something to eat. I'll see you when you get back," Chief nods towards the door, turning his chair around to face the gray filing cabinet in the corner of the room. He opens a drawer and thumbs through the files, and Smith isn't too sure he wants to ask what exactly he's looking for now. He has a feeling he might not want to know, if the way Chief's cursing the file and whatever god thought it'd be funny to create the being the file's about. At least Smith knows it's not about The Priest, since he has that file and was given an order to put the file on the other chief's desk.

      Smith looks down at the nearly comically large file full of reports on The Priest, feeling a slight pang of hopelessness as he leafs through the file, and almost grimaces when he feels a more physical pain in his head. He's glad Chief didn't notice; he'd been keeping his headaches a secret long after he'd been released from the hospital after The Incident. He doesn't want Chief to feel guilty, after all! It's not Chief's fault, not at all! It was Smith's fault, even if some part of him still feels betrayed by the man he trusts more than anything else.

        He shakes himself out of that line of thought and leaves Chief's office, padding down the too bright hallway that leads Smith around a few corners and down a few doors to the head chief's office. The door is closed, like usual, so Smith knocks loudly and waits for an invitation to go inside, like usual. A moment passes, then two, and Smith's just about to raise his fist to knock again when the door swings open and he almost gets run down by someone wearing a black suit and red tie. Smith quickly takes a few steps back, looking up to assess the person who nearly knocked him over, but by the time he glances up again, the person is gone. There was.. someone there, right? Smith isn't starting to hallucinate on top of all these headaches, is he?

        "Come in if you're coming, or leave so I can go. Don't just stand in the doorway," comes the gruff sound of the very impatient sounding chief. Smith knows he's not as rude as he sounds; he's somewhat like Chief in that aspect! They don't realize how angry they can sound sometimes. Smith walks into the room, and the scowl on the chief's face lessens as he gestures at one of the chairs in front of his desk. Like in Chief's office, Smith takes a seat, but unlike in Chief's office, Smith doesn't move any closer to the officer on the other side of his desk. Instead, Smith holds up the (what must be) record-breaking large file of The Priest and carefully places it on the chief's desk.

        "Just like you asked!" Smith responds cheerfully, doing everything in his power to press down the slowly growing headache so he doesn't give any alerts as to something being wrong. Nothing is wrong, everything is normal, it's fine. What isn't fine, but sadly normal, is the look of absolute bafflement on the chief's face as he looks down at the file. The look grows from bafflement to shock as he thumbs through the file, looking up at Smith with raised eyebrows and a stern look on his face that lets Smith know he's about to get another lecture.

        "Why have I just now heard of this- this Priest character?" The chief demands, scowling at the much younger policeman. Smith settles down in his chair, prepared to launch into the same explanation he gave every day since they picked up on the case.

        "We told you, chief! Look at the note on your arm, like I told you to write yesterday!" Smith insists, tapping out a beat on his thighs, waiting for the chief to do as he says. He hears the hum of confusion and nods in the "I know I was right" way. He looks up at chief and points to the file, giving his boss a look of absolute triumph, "See, I told you so! We talked about this yesterday, and the day before, and the day-"

        "Smith!" The chief barks, evidently not liking the fact that Smith had proven that the older man continuously forgets their discussions on The Priest, nor what that means for everyone at the RDPD. Something fishy is definitely going on, and Smith is starting to believe those people in suits are responsible for them forgetting such an important case and such a deadly man. Why, Smith isn't sure, and he is even less sure of how. He's worried that he might be next to forget.

        Smith quickly shakes himself out of that thought, getting up and fixing the chair back into its position in front of the desk. He gives the chief a bright, if slightly shaky, smile before quietly leaving the room, the door shutting with a soft click behind him. Smith decides to follow the bright lights and twisting curves of the building to poke his head into Chief's office, intending to tell him he's going out for lunch now, but Chief isn't there. For a moment, Smith has a jolt of panic, fearing that Chief had been taken by the men in suits and ties, before realizing that it's break time. Smith slips his phone out of his pocket, sending a text to Chief to tell him he's going to go eat something, and puts his phone away. He skips down the hallway, waving at the receptionist and giving her the brightest smile he can manage. His headache makes him feel like someone's insistently pounding against the side of his head, and he hopes that getting out of the unnaturally bright light will make his head feel even a little better.

        Stepping out into the naturally bright light makes Smith have the need to blink a few times, the rapid pounding against his skull easing up a fraction, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He can manage this; this is easy, not as bad as they can get sometimes. Deep breaths, Smith, in and out. He quietly walks down the street, starting to wonder just where he wants to go and what he wants to eat. He finally decides to go to the donut shop- whatever the name is, Smith doesn't have a clue, but since there's really only one Donut Shop, he mostly knows where to go. He sets off in the direction of the shop, skipping down the street and humming various songs he's heard and enjoyed. The RDPD, being in the middle of town, on the edge of the so-called bad part of town, has its advantages. One of those advantages being the ability to cut across the "bad side" of town as a shortcut in order to get to the donut shop faster. Smith isn't afraid of running into anyone, in fact, maybe he could talk to a few people who hang around here! After all, he is a police officer, and he likes to help people. If he can convince even one person to get help and change their life, then his decision to become a cop would be well worth it.

        This side of town is a little sad looking, with its crumbling buildings and overgrown plants, cracked asphalt and trash everywhere. Smith thinks that if people could clean up the streets and fix the buildings, things wouldn't seem so bad here. He'd paint the walls with bright colors, to show that not everything has to be dark and gloomy. Maybe people would appreciate having more color in their lives. He knows he does! It's a shame he can't be colorful, too, in ways that doesn't involve him bleeding. If he could, he thinks he'd probably color his hair blue. Blue is probably the best color, even though all colors are great! Smith continues to skip down the street, smiling at people he sees and happily goes on his way. He's in a good mood, going to get donuts for the whole RDPD to share! That would make them happy, right?

        Glancing around, Smith notices a priest sitting on the stairs leading up to a giant wooden door of what looks like an abandoned church. The man has a black bag sitting next to his feet, making Smith think that maybe he's waiting on a ride to take him back home. Poor guy, he must have a hard time working in a church that's falling apart. Maybe Smith could get some volunteers to help rebuild the church for him? He's sure the priest would appreciate it! Smith, being too busy paying attention to the priest and his church, trips over something on the street and winds up kicking his shoe off. The priest looks up, watching Smith with complete confusion as Smith runs off to grab the shoe that flew down the road. Sitting down, Smith starts to sing The Boys Are Back In Town while he ties his shoe and checks the other shoe to make sure that one won't fly off next time.

        "This isn't a good part of town, you know?" Comes a voice on Smith's left, gruff and clearly not too pleased to be speaking to Smith right about now despite the fact that the person belonging to the voice approached him first! Smith looks up, a friendly smile on his face as he turns to look up at the person the voice belongs to, not very surprised but pleased to discover that it's the priest from the stairs! At least Smith doesn't have to arrest anyone yet.

        "It might be rundown but it's not all that bad! Just needs to be cleaned up a bit, maybe add some colors to it, and it'll be good as new! Though I appreciate your concern, mister!" Smith stands up and dusts himself off, not letting anything ruin the good mood he's put himself in. Not his headache that's slowly throbbing against his skull, not his shoe flying off, and certainly not the rough voice of a person who clearly doesn't like being in this rundown part of town. Smith doesn't really get why it's a bad part of town, when all it seems like is people who just need a little more hope.

        "No, kid, it really is that bad. Have you never been to this side of town before? Look to your right and you'll see the ground covered in needles. Shit, I almost stepped on a few trying to get over here to talk to you," the priest sounds tired and slightly annoyed at having to explain to Smith why this place isn't a good place. This only strengthens Smith's need to help fix things, to give people more hope and possibly an opportunity to improve their lives.

         "Well, I could clean up the street. Throw all the needles in the trash, fix up the buildings, add some colors. I normally don't walk through here, especially not without Chief, but it's quicker to walk through here than go the long way around to get to the donut shop," Smith grins up at the priest, somehow getting a vague feeling that he's seen the priest before, but his head pounds harder the more he tries to remember where he's seen this guy. Chief would know, but Chief isn't here, so Smith's left on his own for now.

        The priest stares at Smith for a while before squinting at him, seemingly irritated, "You are aware that there are reasons why people never walk through this part of town? It may be quicker, but it's also the quickest way to get robbed or shot. But, _clearly_ you seem to know what you're doing, _officer_."

        Smith gets the vague impression that this priest doesn't particularly like Smith, or officers in general. Maybe he's just having a bad day, sometimes Chief gets irritable when a bad day hits him, so Smith won't take offense to the attitude and tone this man's giving him. After all, bad days are unavoidable and sometimes people aren't aware of how they're acting towards others. He's snapped out of his thoughts when the priest waves a hand in front of his face and repeats the question, "Are you going to Dan's Donut Dome or not?"

        "Oh! Yes, I am. Do you know where it is? I'm starting to think that I _donut_!" Smith actually manages a giggle at his own joke, looking at the man with his eye wide and hoping that this one time, the pun ability doesn't do something highly unfortunate, like turn this guy into a donut. When that doesn't happen, Smith almost sighs in relief, completely missing the eyeroll the priest had given him.

        "Yeah, yeah, I know where it is. I can take you there, and point out the people who are most likely to rob you," the priest grumbles something Smith can't seem to make out, scowling as he starts to walk and beckoning Smith to follow him down the road. Smith jogs to catch up, holding on to his suspenders with a grin that's barely winning over the grimace. He won't let his good mood be ruined by headaches or this guy's obvious loss of faith in humanity.

        "I'd really appreciate you showing me how to get there. I'm new in town, not quite all that sure where everything is exactly. I could find my way to the shop, but it'd probably be quicker and easier to have someone show me so I don't get lost," Smith explains, looking around the area and making mental notes of how the faded buildings and overgrown weeds could be improved. Obviously, there needs to be color everywhere. The dull browns of the buildings are what makes things so depressing, Smith thinks, and if the weeds could be changed to beautiful flowers, things would be so much better off.

        The priest lets out another quiet grumble, shaking his head at himself or at Smith, readjusting the black bag slung over his shoulder that Smith just now realized was there. The priest stays quiet for a while before looking over at someone who's hanging out around the corner, "This really isn't the place to get lost in, kid. I am actually fairly new to town too, but I happen to always end up in the shadiest places, and if you don't familiarize yourself with them? Well, you'll probably be dead or worse."

        Smith isn't sure what could be worse than death, but he doesn't want to ask in case he finds out. He also doesn't ask what the priest had grumbled, thinking that maybe it was just something he had been thinking and didn't necessarily want to say. Chief does that sometimes, thinking out loud in a tone too soft for Smith too hear but too grumpily for Smith to want to ask. Feeling slightly confused by the priest's words, he looks at him and says quietly, "What do you mean?"

         The priest appears to be caught off guard, staring at Smith as if he has two heads or as if he just realized Smith was all gray, "What do I mean? I mean that life is not good for me and I end up in the worst parts of towns, you know, the gum in people's shoes and stuff. I am used to it, I fit right in. Just like you fit in with the RDPD."

        Smith gives the priest a friendly smile, standing up a little straighter as another wave of pain crashes over him and threatens to drag him under. He won't let it, he refuses to even acknowledge the thrumming of his head, the insistent pounding against his skull. Headache, what headache, he doesn't have a headache. He shakes his head and lightly pats the priest's arm, "Aw, don't say that! You're not trash; I'm sure you're a great guy! Just in some bad circumstances, that's all."

        "Hey, I never said I was trash! Well, I mean, I am, but I didn't _say_ it," the priest frowns at Smith, scowling slightly, though he doesn't appear to be all that angry.

         Smith frowns, looking and feeling appropriately guilty, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you! You said gum on the shoe, and I thought that's what you meant! My point still stands, though, you can be a good guy, just in bad circumstances, is all," in a desperate attempt to change the subject, Smith looks around for something to talk about, before something clicks. He knows where he's seen this man before! He grins at the priest, gently tugging on the sleeve of the black robe, "Hey, I think I recognize you. Weren't you in the same house Chief and I got sent to when we got ripped out of our reality? The house with the sitcom and the cat?"

        The look of absolute disgust on the priest's face makes Smith laugh, causing the priest to scowl more at him, "Yeah, that was me. I remember you and your partner, and I remember that stupid _fucking cat._  Speaking of Chief, he seems like a good officer. The kind that doesn't take risks, and probably would never shoot a criminal, right?"

         Smith hums, grinning over at the priest and absently touching the side of his head just above his eyepatch, "That was a weird day," He says softly, his smile threatening to turn to a grimace. He only just manages to keep his smile up, and soon he's not struggling to be happy anymore. He can ignore the headaches, he's fine. At the mention of Chief, he brightens up again and nods quickly, "Chief's a great officer! The best I know! He doesn't take risks, and normally he tries to avoid shooting people, but he will if he has to. He'd probably shoot a criminal if the criminal posed any risk to him or someone else. He shot me once, but that was my fault. I think he feels guilty about it." His voice lowers to a mumble, a little frown on his face, "I hate disappointing him, and I messed up that day. But that doesn't matter now."

        The other man stops walking for a moment to stare at Smith in disbelief, eyebrows raised and a tone of obvious doubt in his voice, "He shot you? Well, I'm sure he feels guilty about it. Anyway, I'm sure you won't shoot anyone, right? You seem like you'd want to avoid going through the guilt of pulling the trigger on someone, especially if you have to watch the life drain out of their eyes. Doesn't seem like the kind of thing you'd ever stop feeling guilty for."

        Smith nods and points to his eyepatch, turning his head so the priest can see it more clearly, "Yeah, he shot me through the eye, but I lived through it, even though I lost my eye completely," he's quiet for a moment, contemplating what to say in response to that, before simply shrugging, "I think he feels guilty. He always sounds so different, now, when he talks to me, and I suppose that might be a reason why I don't shoot people. I don't think I should; I'd rather talk them down than to shoot them! Everyone's worth saving, even someone who isn't all that great of a person."

        "Wait, you were shot through the eye? What the absolute _fuck_ , how are you even alive? That should've fucking killed you!" The priest gives Smith a look of bafflement with the slightest amount of barely-there fear, saying as if it had been an afterthought, "No offense, I guess. Not that I'd want you dead? So, uh, on the topic of talking down people, would there be a reason for you to shoot someone? A specific case that you're working on? Just out of curiosity."

         "I never thought about it much, actually. I just figure the doctors were really good at their jobs." He gently touches his eyepatch, eyebrows furrowed slightly as he tries to shove the headache down. He moves his fingers to his temple, a sigh leaving him as he shuts his eye tightly. A moment later, Smith opens his eye again and curls his fingers around his suspenders, "Oh! Well, technically I'm not supposed to talk about cases, but I guess I can this once! Just don't tell Chief on me, okay? There's a priest who goes around robbing and scamming, doing drugs, and killing people! He has a hostage, too, and the poor guy's probably scared to death. I hope he's alright, but we don't know for sure. Chief says The Priest would probably sooner kill us and the hostage than talk to us, so I shouldn't try to talk him down if situations escalate, but I really think that I can convince him that things don't have to be the way they are now."

        "This isn't an act for you, is it? You genuinely see the best possible outcome and try to work towards it? Do you have any leads of where this priest guy might be or who he and the hostage are?" The priest squints at Smith, as if trying to figure him out. Instead of focusing on the priest watching him, Smith looks up at the sky, a look of wonder on his face and a grin dancing on his lips; he's fascinated by the colors in this world. Everything seems so much brighter and happier here, even if there's so much crime and hate in a world so different from his own. He sometimes finds himself wishing he could be colorful too. He'd probably wear as many colors as he could get his hands on, not caring how weird he looks, as long as he's happy wearing it. Maybe he'd convince Chief to wear colors too!

        His attention is pulled to the priest, head tilted slightly in a way that almost mimics a puppy tilting its head at something new, "Well, we know that the priest is definitely in Riftdale, but it's such a big place, almost oddly infinite! We found a place that housed to a person who fits the general description of our guy, and he had someone with him, but we're not too sure if it's the right place. I do know that we found traces of cocaine in the room, so it's probably the right place! They're long gone though, so we're not quite there yet. I checked missing persons reports, but no one who disappeared matches the description of the hostage. That means the hostage probably isn't missed by anyone, or maybe the hostage is being able to see the people who'd miss him." Smith looks around, taking in whatever sights there are to see, mostly interested in the colors of everything around them. After a moment he says softly, "I try to believe in the best possible outcomes and try to act on them. I don't like to think of the worst outcomes, or it'd make me sad, or hopeless and empty like a lot of the other cops at the RDPD. Seeing the best possible outcome, believing in it, that's what keeps hope alive! Believing that people are still good and can change, that's what helps them change. Nothing else will."

        "Well, that is definitely not specific enough to be arise any worries to the guy and his hostage. I am sure the hostage is fine; he's probably better off being a hostage. Who knows, maybe being held hostage is treating him better than staying at home crying himself to sleep with half a packet of saltines in his hands or something," the priest stops walking for a moment, his hands in his pockets, "Look officer, it's cool and all to only see rainbows and unicorns, but when shit is about to hit the fan, you want to be able to recognize it and have a mop nearby, you understand? Hope is dead and signed a DNR before it went under, and there's no point in pretending otherwise."

         Smith shrugs, playing with his suspenders for a moment before looking at the priest. There's an odd look on Smith's face that mirrors the odd twisting nervousness in his gut, but he's still smiling despite it, "Maybe he is better off, but Chief still wants to find him. I just want to see him stay alive- both of them," he blinks, stopping when the priest does. Thinking on those words for a moment, Smith looks around for a while, chewing on his lip. He sees something, walking over to it and gently pulling on the other man's sleeve so he comes too. Smith bends down, examining a flower with a look of pure delight. It's a small yellow flower, growing between cracks in the pavement, "Look at this. It's a flower, right? There's pavement all around it, covering the ground. The flower shouldn't be able to grow here, should it? But it pushed its way up through the cracks; it found a way to grow, so it did. It bloomed. But if I pick it, it will die. If I crush it, it dies. Don't crush hope that struggled to exist in a world that's hard to exist in. Don't kill the color that spread over the gray. See the glass around it?" He gently picks up a bigger piece of glass, tossing it aside, "We can clean up a mess, but that doesn't mean we have to create it."

        The priest looks vaguely annoyed at Smith, kneeling down to look at the flower while Smith speaks to him. He scowls, and something flickers in his expression, before all traces of emotion are wiped from his face. He doesn't look at Smith, still staring at the flower, before saying in a quiet and gruff voice, "You haven't changed a thing. Someone will come and crush this flower, and you can't stop that. It will die unattended and uncounted for, forgotten just like the rest of us. Sometimes you have to kill something beautiful for it to remain alive," he picked the flower, ripping it from the crack in the pavement where it grew, turning to frown at Smith. He didn't look at the man, just stood up and put the flower in his pocket, "The place is just two blocks from here, come on."

         Smith frowns, looking at the spot where the flower once was, something flickering in his expression and twisting his stomach for a moment- sadness, a memory and an emotion that threatens to swallow him whole and take everything he is with it, but as quick as it comes, it's gone. He shoves it down and refuses to dwell on it, just like he does with the headaches and everything he isn't supposed to say. He just looks up at the older male, his smile slightly sadder than it had been a moment before, "Another will grow back. Don't you see? Color, beauty, hope, love. They can't be destroyed, only slowed down, but something else will grow in that flower's place. It might be better, it might be stronger. It might not be. But you can't destroy things because you think killing it will help it! It won't stay alive, the beauty won't stay. It'll decay and be as dirty as the trash surrounding it. Why are you so deadset on seeing the bad things in life? See the color, the wonder. Try hoping. All you can do when you have nothing is to find the beauty in things no one thinks to look at, in places and people no one cares about. Sometimes the only thing you can do is find something pretty and be _happy_ about it." Smith sighs, dusting himself off and glancing behind them, eyebrows furrowed slightly as he shakes his head. He rubs his eye, a little frown tugging on his lips as his head only hurts worse, "Right, the donut place. Let's go get some donuts."

        The priest sighs, starting to walk again, picking up his pace once he sees Smith following him, as if he can't wait to get rid of the younger cop, "I tried to live your way once, kid. It didn't work; things only got worse for me, so I killed hope where it stood and signed its death certificate myself. If hope is dead, you can't be let down by life fucking you over, and you can't be hurt by it. Look, we're nearly there," they slow to a stop in an area that's clearly no longer in the "bad" part of town. It's much cleaner, much brighter and the buildings are all intact. There's a clear line separating the "us" from the "them," and Smith frowns at the realization that the place he lives in is so much more better off than the place they just walked through. He knew it before now, yes, but it's much more obvious and painfully different. The priest is pointing towards the end of the street they're on, saying something that Smith can barely make out due to the ringing in his ears and the intense wave of pain his head hits him with.

         Smith slows his footsteps, doing everything in his power to will this headache away. It's one of the bad ones, the ones that leave him shaking and sometimes makes him sick. He doesn't want this guy to see him sick; he doesn't want _anyone_ to know about the headaches or how his vision sometimes goes blurry with tears, how the pounding in his head can make him have to stop for a while. It will just make people worried, make Chief feel guilty, make people think he can't take care of himself. If the headaches bring him down, how can he be a good officer like Chief? How can he be an officer at all? It's best to pretend they don't exist, just like all the other bad things in the world. They can be changed, stopped, fixed. Smith just has to figure out the best way to get them to _stop._  He doesn't notice that he clutches his head, tears coating one side of his face in the salty water, nor does he realize he's mumbling incoherently. He's shaking a little, looking a little paler, if one could even tell. Chief could, yes, and Smith is very glad Chief isn't here to see him like this. He forces himself to stand up straighter, looking towards the building the priest's pointing towards, though he can't exactly see clearly. He'll find it. He knows where he is now, somewhat. "Thanks for the help," his voice shakes, only slightly, and he offers his best smile. It, too, is shaky and threatens to break, just like the rest of him.

        He feels hands on his shoulders, and feels the priest shake him lightly to get his attention, and immediately he starts to cry. He's not entirely sure why he's crying, but everything is too much, too fast, and he's hurting like he's been shot again. The priest looks concerned and slightly scared, shaking Smith again to snap him out of it long enough to answer the question he can barely hear, "Fuck, kid, are you okay?"

        Smith starts shaking so badly he can barely stand up. He's struggling to breathe properly, hands grabbing on to the priest's to give him something to focus on, eye squeezed shut. The tears continue to fall due to his inability to stop them. His words come out in a rushed stream of panic heavy with pain, voice as shaky as his body, "My head; it's my head. It hurts, like I've- I've been shot again."

        The priest hesitates for a moment, staring at Smith as if trying to figure out exactly what's wrong with him, before dragging him over to a set of stairs, firmly pushing on Smith's shoulders so he'd sit on them. Smith's stomach clenches, and he feels a jolt of more panic at the possibility of him actually throwing up or passing out. That has happened before, and he most certainly does not want it to happen again. Not only because it's unpleasant, but because he doesn't want Chief to know about any of this. Another jolt, a quiet whimper, and both hands grabbing on to the priest's arms to give him _something_ to hold on to and focus on besides the ever increasing pain running through him from his head.

        "Hey, breathe, breathe. C'mon, kid, breathe. You have to calm down, Smith," the priest lets Smith go, patting his pockets before sliding a hand somewhere and pulling something out. Smith keeps his eye squeezed shut, trying to breathe but only managing to choke on a sob. His lungs burn, chest rising and falling too quickly to gather enough air, body trembling like a leaf barely clinging to a branch during a tornado. He opens his eye when he feels a light tap on his cheek, looking up at the clearly older man in a mixture of confusion and pain, unable to push back the expression now. The man shakes the bottle full of pills, taking one of Smith's hands off his arm and pressing the bottle into Smith's hand with the instructions to take two. He tells Smith that they'll help, and Smith feels too awful to argue or refuse any help. He's holding the bottle now, shaking so badly he can't manage to get it open. He can't do this, he can't even get a stupid bottle open, and _make it stop make it stop make it stop._

        "Hey, hey," the priest pulls the bottle out of Smith's hands, easily opening it and pressing two white pills into Smith's hand, "Here, easy now, just take them and you'll feel better. Do you need an ambulance or something? I don't know how to handle this shit."

        Smith swallows the pills, giving the priest a look of pure panic as a pitiful sounding sob leaves him, anxiety now coursing through him as hard as the pain is, "No! No hospitals! No one was supposed to- to know! It's fine, I'm fine. I get headaches a lot."

        "Alright, alright, no hospitals, but you really should get that checked out. You should tell someone, get real help than just some pills given to you by a man you don't even fucking know," he said with a little bit of anger climbing in his voice, causing Smith to wince at the tone, "You can't just keep quiet about stuff like this, kid! What happens if one day there is no one around and you didn't tell anyone you were sick? You could fucking _die_ ; this shit could kill you and no one would know until it's too fucking late because you let your pride get in the way of helping yourself. You know how terrible it would be for the people who love you to realize they could have done something if they had known, but didn't do anything because they didn't know shit?!"

         Smith winces as the man tells off, part of him feeling nervous at the tone the man's using with him. At least he's not being forced into a hospital, not being forced into telling anyone, especially Chief, about the headaches that threaten to tear him apart. He hates lying, hates keeping things from the people he should be able to tell everything to, but he can't bring himself to make Chief feel guilty or even more disappointed in him! He's feeling incredibly dizzy, eye squeezing shut again and his grip on the priest tightening. He's trying so hard to get everything under control again, trying so hard to push through it, "I know, I do. It's just- well, he'd feel so _bad_  and dis- disappointed in me. I can't even handle a headache. I can't- I can't let him down again."

        He feels the priest shake him gently, stopping when he winces and lets out a soft noise of pain. The priest sighs and tries to keep his voice soft, but it comes out as a growl, "Don't work yourself up more, it will make it worse. Believe me, he would feel _worse_ if something happened and he didn't know, especially if he could have helped. Believe me."

        Smith hears the priest make a resigned sigh, and before he knows what's happening he feels a pair of arms wrap around him in both a hug and to keep him from falling forward. He didn't realize he'd been leaning forward until now. It's getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open, the headache slowly causing him to become more and more dizzy. He lays his forehead against the priest's shoulder, slowly hugging him back. He's shaking so hard the hug's probably making the other man shake a little, too. He doesn't say anything, too exhausted to actually do much more than what he's already doing right now. It appears, vaguely, as though he'd been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and it's only now gotten to be too much. He's fighting a losing battle in staying awake, grip on the priest falling away completely.

        The last thing he remembers is hearing a curse and, not too gently, being lifted into someone's arms, then everything going black.


	2. Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smith wakes up in a house that isn't his own. What's in store for him?

        When Smith comes to, he's only aware of one thing: he's laying on a couch somewhere with no recollection of how he got there. He slowly sits up, pressing the heel of his hand against his eye and taking a deep breath. His head aches slightly, the dull throb reminds him of an aftershock after an earthquake, not quite harmless but not bad enough to count. Maybe he had a worse headache? Did he go home? He feels a spike of panic and worry at the thought of Chief finding him like that, and it takes him a moment to remember it wasn't Chief he was with. He can't exactly remember everything right now, but maybe he will in a bit. Sometimes he gets disoriented after passing out, no big deal.

        What is a big deal, though, is the fact that he doesn't know where he is. Looking around, he comes to the quick conclusion that he is not home nor is he at Chief's. Maybe he's at Susan's house? No, that's not right. He remembers walking to the donut shop and not quite making it there, talking to a priest... aha! It was the priest! Maybe he's still here so Smith can thank him. He really appreciates the help and kindness the priest showed him! Though that's probably in the job description for priests.

        Deciding to take a look around for the priest, Smith slowly sits up, one hand holding his head as if that will help the pain stop. It takes him a moment of rapid blinking to clear his slightly blurry vision, then he stands up. He sways very slightly, almost falling back on the couch, before he regains his balance and stands there for a good minute or two to make sure he doesn't do that again. He really does not like feeling like this; it sucks and he's hurting like he's been shot again. Ugh. What was he doing again? Oh, right. Looking for the priest! Where should he start? Maybe he should search the kitchen? He hopes he can find some coffee.

        He doesn't make it very far into the kitchen before running into someone, stumbling back a few steps and laughing it off, "Sorry! I didn't see you there!" He looks at the person he just ran into, and the first thing that comes to mind is that this guy is definitely not the priest! He's wearing a.. what is it called? The painter's hat! He's wearing one of those! The second thing Smith notices is how nervous this guy seems to be. He cowered down when they collided and only stood up straight again when Smith started speaking. Poor guy!

        "O-oh, um, that's alright. Who are you? I didn't know Christian was bringing a friend.. or that he even had friends.." Mister painter-man mumbles, readjusting the hat, but wrongly. Why is it crooked? Is that how you wear painter's hats? Smith does not know.

        "Oh, is his name Christian? That's neat! A priest named Christian," Smith grins, grabbing on to his suspenders and observing this nice looking but very scared man. The man laughs awkwardly and picks up the paintbrush Smith hadn't realized the guy had dropped.

        "Yes, it's very.. neat, I suppose. Though it's a little.. funny that he does what he does with that name and.. title?" Someone's choosing their words carefully. Smith wonders if he's trying to hide something. Time to do some police work!

        "What kind of things does he do?"

        "...How do you hang out with him and don't know what he is?"

        "I just met him today! Or maybe it was yesterday? I'm not sure! I got sick and passed out, so I don't actually know what day it is!"

        "It's uh...Thursday?" Yay! It's still the day he disappeared!

        "Oh, then it was today! I met him today! He was nice enough to bring me here!"

        "I, uh, wouldn't call it nice..."

        "Why not?"

        "Well, he um- He's not a very good person. He's a friend of mine, yes, but he's a very bad man."

        Smith raises his eyebrows, leaning closer to this man. The poor guy takes a step back and pushes his glasses further up his nose. Smith smiles at him, trying to make him more comfortable, but it doesn't seem to work. "Well, I'm a cop! You can tell me!"

        "You're- Oh, I don't know why I didn't notice before. You've got the uniform on and you're... gray? Are you Smith or Chief?"

        "I'm Smith! You've heard of me?"

        "It's, uh, not hard to hear about you. You're one of two gray people in Riftdale and... uh.. you're the cop hunting Christian, are you not?"

        "Why would I hu- Oh my God, he's The Priest!"

        "Did you just now- Oh dear God," The man sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, "My name's Bart, in case you haven't heard of me. I'm quite popular in the art world."

        Somehow Smith doubts that. He's not trying to be rude or anything! Not at all! But if Bart was popular, wouldn't someone have known he was missing by now? Unless-

        "Hey, are you by any chance contacting other people outside of Christian?"

        "Oh, word, yes! He lets me stream art to my fans!"

        "What about friends and family?"

        "Oh, um, I don't have many friends. I have Christian and Clairvoyance, but I don't know where he is. I don't...have..family. Well, I suppose I have Dad, but he's- well, he's everyone's Dad, so I'm not sure he counts."

        "Oh, I didn't know you and the Priest are brothers! Is that why you're with him?"

        "No! No, no, we are NOT related!" Bart looks like he's about to have a stroke. Smith is concerned. "Dad is the Dad of the universe. A bit like God, but he uh...killed God, so..."

        "Are you high?"

        "No?"

        This is going to be a long day.


End file.
